


The Fracture

by Yuo



Series: Ties That Bind [5]
Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 09:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16172207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuo/pseuds/Yuo
Summary: The conclusion to the Frieda x Carol series. Consider this my 'best of'. Also - it's not terribly graphic, but there is a line about cutting someone, so I thought I'd play it safe and use the Ao3 warnings.





	The Fracture

Frieda lay awake in bed, her mind racing. Breathing deeply in an attempt to relieve her anxiety, she forced herself to focus on the tenets of thinking she knew best. Analyze. Plan.  _ Survive. _

 

The human awareness of the threats we cross every day of our lives is often repressed. Frieda, of course, carried a deep dislike of such habits. Stifling an instinct over and over again will only result in it being dulled and then suddenly absent when it’s needed most. And that didn’t help the odds of survival one bit. 

 

She had often pondered  _ what  _ it is exactly that the mind and body pick up on. Is it the minimal cues, the imperceptible shifts in tone and body language? But then again, no other human capability is that finely-tuned for maximum perception. Perhaps it is something deeper than our five senses, a universal force shared by man and animal alike: the ability to identify, nay,  _ feel _ , good and bad. Pure and evil. 

 

_ Evil _ . She turned the word over in her head. Evil was far from her first pick of words she’d use to describe Carol. Evil conjured up images of undefeatable foes, of heartless villains. Not the damaged, twisted young woman that was Carol. 

 

What was evil? In simplistic terms, it was the opposite of life (technically the literal opposite of ‘live’, to get pedantic). Is it quantifiable by characteristic? Or by simple, intangible energy? The distinction is yours to make. 

 

But there is something about  _ evil, _ or the presence of it, that is at the very least deeply off-putting. After all, the most basic purpose of life is to survive; to continue living. Rarely do we stop to ponder  _ why _ ; as the world we live in was built entirely in response to our own urges for survival, so all-embracing of a force it is. 

 

Satisfied that she was justified in her sudden compulsion to get as much distance between her and Carol as possible, Frieda rolled over and let sleep consume her. 

 

As she awakened in the morning, however, she was feeling significantly less confident. It made sense to want to get away from Carol, yes, but perhaps more crucially: she was locked in the building. Sentenced here. The farthest she could get away was another cell block, and then what? She had been Carol’s lapdog for the last several months, always the one to pull a shiv out or threaten to start a fight. The D-Block inmates would kill her the second she stepped through the doorway. 

 

Frieda picked at her breakfast, looking up glumly as Carol sat down. “You ready?” asked Carol, excitement glittering in her eyes. “Big game is this afternoon.” She continued to smirk as she nibbled on a slice of toast, unable to contain her anticipation. 

“Yep,” said Frieda disinterestedly. Her eyes caught a figure in the distance - the warden. Appetite gone, she picked up her tray and left the table. Striding quickly through the hallways, she pursued her target. “Mr. Wilson?” she called. “Excuse me?”

 

He spun to face her. “What is it, inmate?” 

 

“I was wondering,” she drawled, then noticed the impatient look on his face and hurried up. “What would I have to do to get transferred?” 

 

“To another prison? I can’t make that happen.” He turned away. 

 

“Wait!” she called. “What about minimum security? Up the hill?”

 

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s a pretty big favor you’re asking. Everyone wants to be in minimum.” 

 

“How about a deal? I do something for you, you transfer me?” He scowled. “Not-not like that,” she stammered. “Just a favor.”

 

“You have something in mind?”

 

Frieda paused. “How about…” she thought frantically, then it hit her. “Carol Denning’s supply?”   
  


“Denning?” He chuckled. 

 

“It’s a lot,” persisted Frieda. To her relief, he began to nod slowly. 

 

“Okay. But you bring me the stash first.” 

 

“Yes!” Frieda took a deep breath. “Yeah, I mean- I’ll do that.” He gave her a small glance of amusement before walking away. 

 

\-----

 

Survival, in its purest form, doesn’t necessarily include a resulting action. It is mere instinct, a mindless urge, one that requires effort and forethought to be acted upon. Everyone wants to survive, yet only those who plan carefully to succeed. 

 

There are two ways to go about this: neutralizing the threat itself, or protecting yourself from it. Different scenarios require different choices - for instance, one cannot control inclement weather, leaving seeking protection as the sole answer. Frieda suppressed a shudder as she thought about exactly what “neutralizing” would mean in this context; a frighteningly clinical word to describe the act of murder. No, she decided. Protecting herself would be the only option. 

Frieda accurately predicted that Carol would grow violent without hesitation the moment she discovered she had been turned in. As her father used to say, “Figure out the ideal situation. Then figure out how to get there.” She smiled slightly to herself at the fond memory, then the expression faded as she considered actually taking her father’s advice.

 

Frieda knew what her ideal situation was: having no contact with Carol until she was safely out of the prison. She would have to turn her in when Carol was occupied. She racked her mind for answers as she walked back through the hallways, but it wasn’t until she was back in her cell when the answer hit her. 

 

The kickball game! It was so simple. Frieda sat on the edge of her bunk as she planned out her course of action. She’d have to sneak away during the game, of course, but other than that it was a fairly easy plan. And then another idea struck her. Perhaps a little devious and not completely necessary, but it would almost ensure she would be safe. 

 

It would require almost no effort to convince Carol that Barb was the perpetrator, at least until she was safely on the bus to minimum. And what better way to distract the short-tempered woman than to incite an old rivalry? 

 

Peering out of her cell, Frieda was relieved to see Carol deep in storytelling mode with her group of cronies. Slipping undetected out of the common area, she marched towards the library. Noting Carol had replaced even more of her pictures with various clippings of magazines and handsome actors, she reached for the hollowed-out book and gathered up its contents, hastily dumping them behind some rarely-touched books on the opposite side of the library. A sloppy move, but it would have to do for now. It was too much of a risk to have the stolen contraband in her cell until the game. 

 

She returned to their corner of the library and set about arranging her surroundings to give the appearance that someone had to search diligently for the stash. She flung books from the shelves, pushed over potted plants, and rumpled up the blankets on the floor. A small smirk crossed her face as her eyes fell on Carol’s prized Burt Reynolds poster. Slowly, she pulled it from the wall, then tore it slowly, reveling in the oddly strong feeling of elation it gave her. Pleased with her work, she returned back to the common area.

 

Frieda needed to be present when Carol found the ransacked library, but all she could think about was a hot shower. It was late enough in the morning that the showers would be empty - she hated how vulnerable she was when she showered. Backed into a convenient corner, naked, wet, and without any weapons. 

 

She paused as she rounded the corner to the showers - she could hear water running and someone humming along. With a sinking feeling, Frieda noted the pair of large-framed glasses resting on top of the pile of blue khakis on the bench. 

“Hey, Frieda,” called Carol pleasantly, turning to face her. An unexpected thrill ran through the tattooed inmate as she took in Carol’s nude, dripping body. Frieda undressed slowly, occasionally glancing up at her. 

 

And then she did something notably rare - she acted impulsively. Carol startled as Frieda stepped into her shower stall, her immediate reaction a response to a perceived threat. But she relaxed somewhat as she realized Frieda’s gaze was fixated on her bare breasts, and a small grin spread across her face. 

 

Twenty-four hours ago, Frieda would have found the idea of another sexual encounter with Carol disturbing and uncomfortable. But things had notably shifted. She had protected herself from the elements that made her retreat from Carol with nearly complete certainty. She could appreciate all the things that drew her to the woman in the first place - the wanton giggle she gave as Frieda captured her lips in a deep kiss, her overly sexual charm, the shameless way she always sought  _ more  _ \- without any of the danger that came from being involved with Carol Denning. 

 

_ Like a tamed animal, _ Frieda observed smugly. She was never one to complicate matters with trifling things such as pride and ego, but she couldn’t help but take a smug sense of satisfaction at her power over the vicious inmate. Of course - Carol didn’t know it yet. 

 

She demonstrated it in her actions, however, fondling the lithe young woman with more roughness than usual. Carol seemed to enjoy it too - gasping as Frieda pinched at her nipples, closing her eyes and sighing at the slightly harsh treatment. 

 

Carol attempted to touch her back, stroking her fingertips along Frieda’s plush curves, but Frieda paid her no mind, continuing her heavy touching as the warm spray of the shower enveloped them both. Carol’s hands eventually found themselves clutching Frieda’s shoulders with a sudden desperation as she worked lower and lower, sliding down the sharp curve of Carol’s trim waist. Pleased to find her already swollen and slick, she traced her fingertips along the glistening petals, gently prising them apart. 

 

Carol’s clit pulsed with need as Frieda spread her open, and she arched her back, aching for more contact. Others would joke about her urgent neediness, but Frieda took some gratification in knowing that  _ she  _ was its cause. Carol’s fingernails pressed small, red slivers into Frieda’s soft shoulders as Frieda’s thumb brushed over her throbbing pearl. 

 

Frieda stepped forward, backing Carol up against the wall. With her effectively pinned, she shoved her hand between Carol’s quivering thighs once more, seeking the wet heat within. Carol made a delicious crooning sound as Frieda’s fingertip pressed against her opening, giving a luxurious shudder as it slid insistently deeper. She clasped her walls around the single, slim digit, resisting the urge to beg her for more. 

 

Delivering aggressive, frenzied kisses, Frieda slipped a second finger in amongst the first, eliciting a sharp whimper from Carol at the stretching, tingling, fullness. She felt the back of her head hit the tile as she moaned, Frieda’s fingers curling and stroking deep, forbidden spots inside of her. Frieda felt her own cunt tighten as she watched Carol let herself go, rolling her hips in time with her motions, whimpering without abandon. “Frieda, oh Frieda…” 

 

Carol squealed as Frieda circled around her clit, providing an exquisite pressure against the stiffened bud that she ground against, feeling herself growing wetter and wetter around Frieda’s penetrating fingers with each blissful stroke. Her nails scratched angry red lines into Frieda’s back, the significant heat and humidity in the air from the flow of the shower only adding to her abandon. 

 

Frieda’s newfound roughness brought Carol to the edge remarkably quickly, and she felt herself clench and flutter around her fingers. As Frieda gave her clit a cruel but marvelous pinch, she cried out Frieda’s name, but was hurriedly hushed with another kiss as she tensed and then writhed, thrashing against the slick tile wall as her cunt spasmed, wetness trickling down Frieda’s hand before it was washed away by the flow of the showerhead above them. Slipping her fingers out of her lover, Frieda pressed them to Carol’s plump, reddened lips, a lazy smile playing across her face as Carol readily accepted them, sucking and licking her own essence from them. Before she could get any more eager, Frieda pulled away, flashing one last brilliant grin at her. 

 

Carol looked perplexed but not sad to see her go, returning the smile and then shifting her attention back to her shower, working shampoo into her messy, tangled hair as Frieda hurriedly dried off and dressed, draping her towel over her shoulders as she stepped out of the showers. 

 

Frieda could feel her soaked, swollen labia slipping and pressing against one another as she walked in a way that was not quite unpleasant. She tried to focus on the events to come, to get prepared, but the aching, unsatisfied need between her thighs was just too distracting. Glancing around to ensure she was unnoticed, she quickly ducked into one of the storage closets she knew to be unlocked. 

 

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, she thrust her hand into her panties, sighing as her fingertips found her clit at long last. Replaying the events of just moments ago, she rubbed herself, conjuring up images of Carol, blissfully impaled on her fingers, head tilted back, throat exposed, writhing as she submitted to her. Her eyes narrowed as she worked her hand faster, suppressing a soft moan.

Frieda reached out for the wall with her other hand, steadying herself as her breathing started to come in short, sharp bursts, fantasies of Carol flashing behind her closed eyelids. She gasped as she felt the lovely tension begin to pool in her lower belly, massaging her thrumming clit with vigor, her thighs trembling. 

 

She couldn’t help but groan deeply as she came, shuddering as she rolled the pads of her fingers over her overstimulated bud, her cunt seizing and pulsing as she slumped bonelessly against the wall. Struggling to catch her breath, she rested there for a moment as her vivid daydreams began to fade.  

 

Adjusting her uniform and praying that her face wasn’t too noticeably flushed, she propped the door open a crack and checked to make sure the coast was clear. As she stepped out into the hallway, a sudden voice made her jump. “Frieda!” She spun to find herself face to face with Carol. “Where’d you run off to, huh?” she giggled. 

 

When Frieda didn’t respond, she leaned in closer. “Round two in the library?” Carol whispered flirtatiously. Frieda’s eyes lit up - it was the perfect excuse to be with Carol when she saw the ransacked hide-out. 

 

“Sure,” she shrugged casually, attempting not to sound too eager. With another happy chuckle, Carol bounced after her en route to the library. Frieda walked quickly, feeling anxiety begin to take root deep inside. Silently, she entered their corner, preparing herself for what would have to be the acting performance of a lifetime. “Shit,” she gasped, feigning surprise at their pillaged surroundings. 

 

“Oh, Burt, oh god,” whimpered Carol, scurrying over to the ruined poster. Frieda reached for the book she knew to be empty. 

 

“Burt’s the least of our problems,” she said. “The stash is gone.” She frustratedly threw the book to the ground for good measure. 

 

“I swear, I’ll kill that flat-ass bitch with my bare hands!” shrieked Carol, repeatedly slamming the book onto the mess of blankets covering the floor. She jumped to her feet, tearing more books off their shelves, all thoughts of sex forgotten. With an angry shout, she slammed her fist against the solid bookcase. 

 

“Carol, calm down,” urged Frieda. The immediate intensity of her rage frightened her. And she had just discovered a flaw in her plan she had never accounted for - Carol would march right over to Barb, who would swear up and down she hadn’t stolen anything, leaving Carol on the hunt for the real perpetrator when the kickball game was still hours away. “Last sister you whacked landed your ass in here,” she added hastily. “We need to be strategic,” she urged in a calm voice.

 

“No,” growled Carol, “what we need to do is teach those D-Block bitches a lesson. Show them they can’t fuck with us!”

 

“Agreed,” said Frieda hurriedly. “But - shoot a deer in the gut, you wind up chasing it for days. Shoot it in the heart? You’re eating venison by dinner.”

 

Carol paused for a moment as she pondered this. Slowly, she broke out into a smile, then an ecstatic grin. She jumped up and down with excitement; Frieda looking on concernedly at her sudden shift in mood. “Frieda,” laughed Carol, “meeting you was the luckiest day I had since I found that fifty dollar bill on the bathroom floor of Dairy Queen.” 

 

“Yeah,” nodded Frieda, perturbed. 

 

\------

 

“You guys got all that?” asked Carol, addressing her lackeys seated at the table around her. “When Frieda goes up to kick, you all charge.” The women chattered excitedly. “Show ‘em who’s boss.” She turned towards Frieda, who was sitting uncomfortably next to her. “Anything else?”

 

“Uh - you got it,” said Frieda. “Teach them a lesson,” she added. With a satisfied expression, Carol dismissed the impromptu meeting. 

 

“How did you get so good at this?” asked Carol.

 

“Good at what?”

 

“Planning.”

 

Frieda shrugged. “Had a lot of practice, I guess.”

 

\------

 

The sound of the guards talking and the women buzzing with activity made Frieda look up from her book. Peering out of her cell, she saw the inmates begin to line up in the common area. It was time. 

She flagged down Carol as she crossed in front of Frieda’s doorway. “Carol!” she hissed. “Come here.”

 

“Everyone is-” started Carol, pointing to the line of prisoners. 

 

“I know, I know,” interrupted Frieda. “Just - come here.” Appearing skeptical, Carol entered the cell. Pulling her into the corner where they couldn’t be seen by others, Frieda grabbed the woman and delivered a long, gentle kiss. Carol gave an “mmph” of surprise but quickly responded back to the kiss. 

 

“What was that for?” she asked, breathless, as Frieda pulled away. 

 

“For luck,” smiled Frieda. It wasn’t for luck though - it was a goodbye, a farewell. In spite of her plan, there were certain parts, certain facets of Carol that Frieda had grown quite fond of - things she would miss during her new life in minimum security. 

 

Carol seemed to enjoy Frieda’s answer, however, and flashed her a quiet grin in return. “Come on,” she nudged, elbowing past Frieda to join the other women in line. Frieda followed her with a quiet apprehension. 

 

It was a cold, rainy day on the field, but none of the inmates seemed to mind as they cheered, then booed as D-Block emerged. The game started off quickly, the contrast cool, calm weather seemingly adding to the suspense in the air. Carol was especially affected by the tension and unsettlement, managing to go through three cigarettes in a row. 

 

As the third inning drew to a close, Frieda watched Carol closely, waiting for the perfect moment to slip away. As Carol turned to check and make sure the shiv was still secure in its hiding place under the scoreboard, Frieda jogged towards one of the COs. “Can you take me inside, please? I need to use the bathroom.”

 

He regarded her with an air of impatience. “Fine, but I’m not taking you back out.”

 

“That’s fine,” she replied quickly. He hesitated for a moment. “Can we - please?” She gestured to the door. Annoyed but compliant, he strode towards the building, Frieda jogging along after him. As soon as he had dropped her off safely at her cell, she snatched up her laundry bag and raced back to the library. 

 

To her great relief, the stash was still where she had left it. Rushing to gather it all up into the laundry bag - cash, drugs, jawbreakers and all, she cinched it tight with shaking hands and wadded it up to conceal the items inside. 

 

The walk back from the library was the most daunting piece of the whole plan - if she was caught with the contraband, she knew the guards wouldn’t even so much as pause to let her tell her story before they dragged her off to Ad-Seg. She felt like all eyes were on her as she shuffled past CO after CO. 

 

\------

 

“Where the fuck is Frieda!?” demanded Carol.

 

“Haven’t seen her since the bottom of the third,” replied one of the C-Block inmates. 

 

“I think I saw her gettin’ walked off by a CO,” supplied another. 

 

“Dammit!” shouted Carol. “This whole thing was her plan. Plus, she fucked up our kicking order.”

 

“You’re up, Carol!” Rage flushed through her at the sound of Barb’s irritating voice. “Unless you want an automatic out for delay of game,” she mocked. 

 

“Fuck it, I’ll do it myself,” hissed Carol. “We go on my signal. They’ll never know what hit 

‘em.” Taking one last puff off her cigarette, she tossed it aside as she stepped up to the plate.  

\------

 

Mr. Wilson looked very impressed as Frieda emptied the laundry bag out onto the counter. “Nice work, Berlin,” he said, inspecting one of the wads of cash. 

 

“About that transfer?” she prompted.

 

“Got a van waiting outside.”

 

“Pleasure doing business,” she smirked. 

 

“Oh, and Frieda?” She looked back over her shoulder. “Stay out of trouble up the hill. You just made a lot of big enemies down here.”

 

An incredible feeling swept across Frieda as she was handcuffed and loaded into the van. It made her want to smile, laugh, dance… anything. She reflected on the rarity of experiencing happiness in prison, until she realized what she was feeling wasn’t happiness at all. It was victory - the special kind elation that comes with using all you’ve got and coming out on top. 

 

She had  _ won. _

 

\-----

 

“Bullcrap!” screamed Barb from where she had fallen on the muddy earth. 

 

“Bull-true!” bellowed Carol, climbing on top of her sister and pinning her down before she had a chance to get away. “You think I care about some stupid game?” she demanded, shifting in an attempt to secure Barb’s limbs. “You stole my stash!” She held the sharpened toothbrush firmly, keeping it just inches away from Barb’s face. 

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“I’d fucking kill you twice!” shouted Carol, dragging the shiv down her sister’s cheek. Barb grimaced as she felt her skin split down the sharp path traced by the weapon. “Once for stealing my drugs, and once for my Burt poster!”

 

“Burt Reynolds sucks balls!” spat Barb. “And I didn’t take your drugs! Double dog pinky, Care!” she promised, eyes wide with fear. “If I did, I’d be struttin’ and you know it!” 

 

Carol leaned back slightly, brow furrowing as it all began to click into place. Frieda’s absence. Their encounter in the shower earlier. The missing stash.  _ But… Frieda likes me! _ was all she could think. She felt something very vulnerable and very personal deep inside her tear and break as she processed the betrayal, left in shreds thanks to Frieda. 

 

Just like her prized poster.

 

Not knowing what else to do, she stabbed the shiv into the ground repeatedly, the action a mere fraction of the anger and hurt inside, and screamed her lover’s name. 

 

\------

 

Survival is the process of defending one’s life. If it is the opposite of life that we fight when we have to engage in survival, we may as well be fighting evil. And yet there are many things that threaten our lives that we don’t immediately consider evil: take illness, or hunger, or weather, for instance. 

 

For evil is a part of nature just as goodness (or life, or however you would define evil’s reverse counterpart) is. Simply one of the many polarities that govern us - a give-and-take, an endless cycle of good triumphing over evil and evil triumphing over good. 

 

The contrast is an automatic rhythm, a mindless, repeating routine. Carol and Frieda’s story is merely one single, isolated instance of this sequence. The outcomes for each person should not be the focus - for the roles of good and evil must be satisfied, regardless of which part one plays. And which roles had they taken on? If Frieda used evil to vanquish evil, is such an action justified?

 

Alternatively, is it crucial to recognize and view goodness as more honorable? Do we ascribe moral values to good and evil simply because we, as human beings, experience goodness to be the more pleasant of the pair? Or is one half of the equation inherently more virtuous and noble than the other, as goodness is a result of empathy? 

 

However, Frieda’s fight was far from over; as the old adage goes: she had won the battle, but not the war. Perhaps the term “war” is disingenuous, as there is destined to be only one victor in the end - and it’s not life. If you are reading this, you have never once lost a battle with evil. You have protected your life with complete accuracy. 

 

But the moment of loss will arrive someday. An alternate force will triumph over your life. Yet, with our knowledge of that day, whenever it shall be, we continue to fight. It is ultimately doomed in the end, but all living things persist anyways. And for what purpose? 

 

But to question that would be to question the meaning of life itself, and that’s a little much for Orange is the New Black fanfiction, hmm? 

  
  



End file.
